Blood
by QuiaVeritatis
Summary: Evey hears a crash in the Gallery. When she goes to investigate, she finds she will need to use everything she has to overcome what she finds.


Blood

Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

Which V? Both V's, but this has to be set more in the GN universe because I need a post-torture Evey living in the Shadow Gallery.

* * *

Strangely enough this story was inspired by one of my earlier stories (Fear a Painted Devil). I was remembering the image of V refusing to take the Demerol from Evey because he didn't trust her with his body while he slept. This prompted an idea: What if he had no choice?

* * *

Evey heard a crash. Immediately she was out of her bed and onto her feet. She reached for her dressing gown and the light but another crash, this one even louder, sent her flying to the door instead. _There is never a crash in the Shadow Gallery. Ever._ There were too many priceless works of art and sculpture for either of the Gallery residents to move quickly or without care. The door opened into the dark and empty hallway. She stopped, not wanting to move further without a light. She called, "V?" Listened. Silence now; all more ominous after hearing such a raucous sound mere moments before. "V?" she called out louder.

Stillness.

She took one step into the hall, reaching for the lights, and felt her foot slide on the stone. She crashed to the floor on her hip and elbow, something wet and sticky soaked her nightgown. The pain of impact was forgotten as she realized what had taken her down. Blood. Sticky and cold. A lot of it. She could smell it now, now that it was on her hands, her legs, her arms. She could taste its coppery tang where she wiped her mouth with her hand. She got to her knees, felt for the wall, and walked her hands up to the light. Turned it on.

The white flagstones were striped and spotted red with the shiny gloss of blood. She followed the trail to the door that led outside to the tunnels. The door gaped open like an obscene mouth. _This door never opens any longer than it takes a person to pass through it._ _V would have closed it behind him_. She made her way carefully to that door, leaned on the handle, peered out into the tunnel. "V?" No answer. No sound. She closed it, locked it, turned and looked again at the floor. Shock. _It can't be._ The blood trail led from this door, past her own, past where she had smeared the drips into a Rorschach image of her body when she fell. They continued down the hall. Realization struck her. The last vestiges of her sleep-drunk stupor vanished.

"Oh my God."

The blood trail led away from her. The drops of red gleamed garish and cruel on the creamy flagstones. Evey stared down at them, numb. Her mind was turning too slowly. She did not want this to be real. She brought her hand up before her face, spread her fingers. Her little finger would not separate from her ring finger; the two were stuck together with red paste. _Not paste. Blood._

_This can't be real. This is a dream._

She wiped her hand on her silk nightgown. The drops lead down the hall. She was reminded of a fairy tale her father had once told her. What would she find if she followed that red trail? V.

She was careful not to step in the blood, for when she stepped barefoot in the blood she felt raw, like she was stepping on him. She made her way down the hall, one foot in front of the other, hoping she was wrong. Hoping she would wake up, that she would smell breakfast cooking and V would be there with tea and biscuit. She had had nightmares here in the Gallery before. Terrible ones. She always woke up. She would wake up and he would be there. She followed the trail around the corner. This part of the corridor was still dark, but she could see his hat on the floor in front of the lavatory. _No. No. Wake up. Wake up now. It is time to wake up. _She gripped her elbow with her right hand and squeezed until it hurt, but she did not smell bacon frying, did not hear V humming, and did not hear V calling to her to get out of bed.

_This is not a dream. This is real_.

Evey hit the lights, flooding the hall and the loo with bright light as though she could banish her foreboding with radiance. The doorway beside her was marked with a red smear. _He must have leaned against the wall here, grabbed the doorway._ She stood in the doorway now just as he must have stood. She made herself look inside.

She didn't see him at first. She had to stare around the brilliance of the white tile and around the glare from the stainless steel that seemed to be everywhere. Between the threshold and the clawfoot tub lay a minefield of clutter. That first crash was the medical kit. She could see where he had reached for it, pulled it down from the shelf, then what? He must have dropped it, for it lay on its side at her feet, its guts spilled out on the floor. Bandages, syringes, pill bottles, scalpels, needles of all kinds, creams, lotions, salves, things she could not identify, all spilled. Sprayed out, thrown out, tossed about, strewn.

The second crash. Evidence here was even more frightening, for it was the huge metal cabinet. The one that is always locked. The one that stood between the sink and the bidet. Six feet tall and four feet wide with two metal doors of brushed aluminium. Always locked. Always a mystery to her. Now, it was on the floor. He must have reached for it, pulled it over. _V is six feet of pure muscle. He must weigh close to fourteen stone. When he pulled on that cabinet…it came down on him. It must have fallen on him when he pulled on the doors_. Everything that was in the cabinet is now on the floor. It seems like acres of little things. More medical supplies. More bandages, more medicine, more instruments, tools and paraphernalia. More medical things than she had ever seen. Mostly things she did not have names for. He must have yanked it too hard. She looked for him. She could not really see him, merely a black form beyond the cabinet. _I'll never get it off him_. She looked down at her bare feet on the tile. Stepped gingerly around the sharps, climbed over the cabinet. _He is dead, isn't he. Dead._

_How will I know? How does someone take a pulse? How does one know?_ Evey felt her memory spin back in time to her school days, to her teachers, her father, her grandmother. All a blank. This was not a lesson she ever learned. She didn't know. Her helplessness tore at her mind. _I must get to him_. _At least I can feel him. I know what death feels like._

Years ago. During the reclamation. One morning one of the girls didn't take her turn in the dormitory showers. Evey remembered. The other girls were running screaming for the matron. _I didn't run_. Every remembered walking to the bed, looking at her face. White, like porcelain. Smiling, the eyes half closed, the lids barely covering the no longer glistening eyes. Dead eyes. Evey remembered the screams in the background as she reached out to touch this girl. A girl whose name she no longer remembered. She was cold. Like a doll. Her skin was cold and hard and smooth like a doll's. The matron rushed in, followed by a pack of screaming girls still wet from the showers. The matron pushed her away, pulled back the blankets. Evey remembered this. And she remembered what death feels like.

She made it over the cabinet. _Here he is_. He had fallen against the wall, the bloody smear on the tile evidence of where he had been. The cabinet had knocked him against the wall, knocked him down, thrown him over the edge of the tub. The clawfoot tub held him bent over, almost inside it. She couldn't see his head, only his shoulders and arms along the rim. _He is too still. I can't hear him breathing. He's not moving_. _He's dead, isn't he. He's left me_. Her numbness twitched, she felt it grow slowly into a fury, welling up from deep inside where she kept those memories. _How dare you! What was worth the risk, so close to the Fifth? You stubborn, selfish bastard_. She slid down the other side of the cabinet, ready for fighting, ready to pound him. No, she didn't really want to pound him. She wiped her tears with a red hand and continued climbing down from the cabinet. _I want to touch him_. His boots lay before her, the stiff leather gleamed in the harsh lights. The legs askew, not how legs should look. Not how legs should lay. She grabbed one boot, straightening it as she pulled herself across the scattered medical equipment, got her footing on the tile, reached for his other leg to pull herself up. _His leg. Warm. Still warm. He's not dead._ She squeezed his knee above the stiff leather. The flesh gave beneath her fingers. _Alive flesh, warm. He's not dead, not dead_. She chanted it like a mantra as she clutched at his clothing, moving her feet, trying to wedge her body between the cabinet and his shoulders. Trying to get to his head, his face. She clawed her way up, climbing him like a mountain until she reached his shoulders. Pulled on him, pulled hard to move him. _He is too heavy_. She leaned back, her hands twisted in his doublet, yanked as hard as she could. _No traction on this slippery floor, blood, medicine, broken bottles. Come up, V._ She yanked again harder and this time he did come up. He came up off the tub and fell back, pinning her with his shoulders against the wall. She lay there panting, her arms around his chest as his head lolled backward against her neck, warm and wet. His wig was askew, the hairs standing on end and sticking to her face, the mask no longer white, but streaked red and dulled with dust and grime. She pulled at his shoulders until gravity assisted her in laying him flat beside her, between the tub and the ruined cabinet. He lay still. But his warmth reassured her, even as she felt him bleeding. _He is bleeding, but he is not dead. Not dead, not dead_, she chanted. _Not dead_.

Then she heard another voice. It was her own,

"Not yet."

* * *

Blood 2

Special thanks to FreeSpirited0ne for the medical advice she gave while I crafted this chapter (and the next)

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

Which V? Both V's

* * *

_Not Yet_.

_What do I do now?_ Evey realized that part of her had actually expected to find him dead there, crumpled in his cloak, stiffening as he lay bent and twisted against the tub. She knew how to feel if that were the case. She knew how to react. _Grief is not a foreign emotion to me. But this. This is new. I cannot call for help. I cannot take him to hospital and leave him for someone else to repair._ She sucked in a lungful of air. _If he dies now, it will be my fault. Five minutes ago his death would have been his fault. Now I am responsible for him. I got to him in time, but now what?_ Her hands trembled as she smoothed them over his chest, tried to feel for his heartbeat. Her hands stuck to the silk, caught in the blood that soaked his clothing. She could feel nothing. She moved her hand up to his neck, gently turned his head so she could slip her hand over his high collar and under the mask. For the first time she felt his skin in her hand, felt the bones of his neck. _He is real._ She was shocked that she could be surprised. _Did I really think he was not?_ There was a pulse under the skin, sticky and slick, but beating. She bent over the mottled mask. Finally heard the sound of his breath. _So soft. Too soft. What do I do now?_

_Stop the bleeding_. _Where is he bleeding? He is dressed all in black_. Everything is soaked. Everything is all one color. Evey pushed herself back away from him. In the cramped space there was only room for their two bodies. The cabinet, the tub and the walls caged her with him in a small rectangular cell. _But the floor is white and there is more blood in some places than others._ She bent double, lifting the cloak, looking at the tile. Most of the blood was pooled beneath his hips, but the tub was spattered, so was the wall six feet up, and her white silk nightgown was red from her neck to her waist where his head had rolled across her chest. _A head wound. No, please. Anything but that_.

She tugged at the wig. It slid off, catching a little on the straps of the mask. It felt like a paintbrush that had not been cleaned properly, stiff and matted. She let it fall beside her. Beneath the wig his scalp lay bare and red, the two black straps of the mask, buckled behind. She reached for them, but stopped. _No. I can see well enough_ _now_. Gently she put her arm beneath his neck, lifted his head, turned it side to side. _There_. She could see a glistening black stripe across his skull and over one ear the about the width and length of her finger. _He's been shot. The bullet grazed him right here. He was shot in the head, but he picked up his hat and brought it back with him._ Evey squeezed her eyes shut. _This man_. She shook her head. The blood had coagulated there over his ear, the edges of his scalp lay stretched apart and the blood had poured down, but it was not bleeding so copiously now, merely oozing. She bunched up his cloak and carefully set his head down in its sodden folds.

Evey doubled up, pressed herself against the metal cabinet and shimmied halfway down his body to his hips, where the second pool of blood glistened beneath the lights. This wound was more obvious upon inspection. Another bullet had caught him in the hip, this one bleeding still. The fabric of his doublet and trouser ripped, the frayed edges stuck in his flesh. _Another grazing? Or is the bullet inside? _She pressed against it, felt the blood spill over her fingers. _I need to apply pressure here_. She pressed harder, looked around her. The towels. She saw the stack of neatly folded white bath towels on a shelf beside the tub. A stretch of her arm and she touched the edge of one, pulled it to her and pressed it against him, using her own hip to hold it, keeping her hands free. _I need four more hands. _The blood soaked her towel immediately. She pressed harder.

"Ah" The hips moved away from her, against the tub. His legs flexed with a jerk, the boots kicked at the floor. She dropped the towel.

"V!" She leaned over his chest; put her face to the mask. "V. Can you hear me?"

She was answered with a gasp and a sigh. _He is conscious_. "V. Can you hear me?" she insisted. His arm came up, a gloved hand felt for the mask, but missed, flailed around helplessly. Evey took the gloved hand and lay it on the mask. "It's here," she soothed him, glad she had not touched the straps. She heard him sigh.

"Evey."

"Yes. I am here."

"Blood."

"Yes, you are bleeding."

"Blood."

"No…" a long sigh as though all of his air was gone. "Blood."

Evey frowned. _It's the head wound. He's delirious_.

"Fridge. Blood." He swung his head slowly back and forth. "Blood."

"V?"

His chest rose slowly as he inhaled. Each word spilled out like a sentence. "Blood. Fridge. Units." Now alarmingly, "Hurry." Then he was silent.

Evey shook him. His arm fell back, striking the tub. She shouted at him. "V!" she heard him breathe. _Still alive_. His blood was still warm in her lap where she pressed against his hip. _Blood in the Fridge? What did he mean?_ _There is no blood in the Fridge._ Doubt curled around her mind. _But_ _maybe there is today_. She came up off the floor and vaulted over the cabinet, landing on the sharps and the bottles and the creams and the soft bandages, mindless of their sting on her feet. She slipped once in the blood, but did not go down as she careened around the corner flying to the kitchen. She flung open the Fridge door, scanned the contents. Yogurt, lettuce, cream for the tea, last night's leftovers. _No blood. Where would he have put it?_ She knelt down and pulled out the bottom drawer. _There it is. Blood. Just as he said_. Little red plastic bags of life, each trailing a tail of tubing. _How many will I need?_ She did not complete the thought, or even count them but gathered them all up in her arms.

* * *

Blood 3

Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery and medical squick

Many thanks to my fabulous medical beta, Freespirited0ne.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

Evey carried her precious burden over and through the scattered medical supplies. She had to stop and lay them down on top of the cabinet as she crawled over and settled back into the little space where V lay bleeding on the tile. They were cold. _That can't be right. They must be warmed up._ She looked back at the doorway, thinking of the kitchen. How _does one warm blood? On the stove? In the oven?_ She turned around. _No. In the tub_. She reached over the side, put in the plug and turned the hot tap. _Not too hot. I don't want to cook it. 98.6, right?_

_The next problem. How to get it into him_. She crawled along beside him until she reached his head. The mask was motionless, its grin nearly erased as the blood dried like a blackened glaze across its features. She tucked her hand under the mask and touched his neck again. _Not dead, but he does not respond._ "V?" Nothing. Tears of frustration dripped down her nose, she wiped them with the back of her hand. "V, I have the blood. Now what do I do?" _Tell me_. But she knew he could not hear her. The tub was filling with water. The steam rose up, the porcelain sides warmed. She turned off the taps, used her hands to swish the plastic bags of warming blood around, and watched the water turn a faint pink. _My hands need to be clean anyway. What would he do if it were me lying there? He would know what to do. He knows how to do everything. He reads so many damned books_. Evey sat up straight.

_Books_. She turned her head, scanned the debris field that littered the floor of the loo. _Sure enough_. There were at least four heavy books tumbled about, their bindings hunched up, their pages splayed out. _Medical texts, I bet_. She climbed out, bent over each book. "Care of the Trauma Patient," _that's the one_. She tucked it under her arm and crawled back over the cabinet. Tucking herself in beside him, she opened it, meaning to go to the table of contents, but it fell open to where the spine was broken. "Initiating Intravenous Therapy." That seemed to be the right chapter. The pages were stuck together with some brown stains. Evey was gratified to see so many illustrations and diagrams, but when she got to the part that read, "Identify accessible vein for placement of IV catheter or needle" she felt nauseous. The graphic diagram only intensified that sick feeling. She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling as she counted ten. _I don't have time to be sick about this. He is still bleeding. It's slower now, but I can tell he is merely fading away. I have to do this, and I have to do it now._

She put the book down, careful to keep it open to the page about blood. She tugged at V's belt until she had access to a knife handle. Pulled it from its sheath and slit the sleeve of his tunic over the inside of his arm from his shoulder to his gauntlets, then unbuckled the belt and let it fall, pulling the rest of the knives one by one. "I'm surprised you didn't gut yourself with these," she told him. Turning back to her book, she saw that she would need to do something called, "raise a vein". One look at V's arm and the scars that cris-crossed the target area told her that this just couldn't work. She had seen his hands once before and correctly deduced that more of him resembled that ruined skin and scarred flesh. There was no way she was going to be able to "raise a vein", and then the next instruction merely said, "Perform venipuncture". The accompanying illustration made it look so easy. Obviously this book was written for someone who had some medical training already. Evey took his arm and held it to her chest, pressing the gloved hand to her cheek. _You are going to die, and it will be my fault_. She could not stop herself, and she didn't try. Her tears fell on his glove, on his arm. Soon she was sobbing all the pain and fear and frustration of the last hour, sobbing it all out, she bent over his chest, which was much bigger area to target with her tears. She cried all over his chest, then cried some more on the mask. She put her hands on either side of his face, and cried as she touched her forehead to his. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "It's all over. Everything is all over. Parliament will stand this year. And next and the year after. It will always be there but you will be gone. No one will remember you but me. I will never forget you. Good bye." She kissed the bloody mask, then jumped back when it moved.

"Have you put the blood in?" he asked, his voice was rough and gravelly, like he needed a drink of water.

"Oh no, oh no. V, I can't," Evey cried frantically, "I can't get it in. How can I get it in?"

His arm came up, his other arm. His left arm. The one that lay farther away from her against the tub. "Put it in."

"What?"

The arm fell back. Evey reached for it before it could be lost beneath the tub. She took his hand in hers. "V, how can I find a vein? How can I put in a …whatsit," she glanced down at the open book, "a catheter?" He didn't answer, he was unconscious again. When she rubbed that arm like she had the other, trying to revive him, she felt a hard bump on the inside of his elbow. She picked up a knife and slashed this sleeve as well. There on the inside of his elbow, strapped with tape was what the diagram in the book called a "butterfly needle". Her mouth hung open. There was even a tiny bit of blood in the tube which the book suggested meant the needle was ready for the "catheter hub junction". _Oh, V, you crazy bastard_. Evey quickly scooped a dripping bag of blood from the tub and looked for a place to elevate it. As her eyes moved upwards, she gasped. A hook hung ready from the shower ring. She stood and easily attached the bag, the tube hung down, the junction neatly fit. One quick review of the book to make sure the slide clamp was positioned properly and she was rewarded with a tiny ruby drip. _It is over. I did it_. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Now. How much blood should he get? How much more when this is gone? Had she ruined it all when she warmed up all the bags_? Too much thinking. I will think later. I am filling him up from one side while he is leaking it all out on the other._ _I'm going to have to bandage these holes he has in him._ She flipped the pages of the book looking for the chapter on bandaging. _How will I know if he's getting better?_ She decided to take his blood pressure. _That's what the book says to do_. Her newfound confidence made short work of the chapter on blood pressure. Within minutes she had the digital sphyg-thing around his arm. According to the chart he should be dead, or she had put it on wrong. She checked it twice, both times it was 70 over nothing. He wasn't dead, though. He was moving his legs. She picked up a grease pencil and wrote on one of the few remaining unsullied wall tiles. "70 over nothing". Every time the clock in the gallery struck its chimes, she pushed the button on the cuff and wrote the numbers that came up on the tile. After a few units of blood she sighed with relief. His blood pressure went up to 90 over 50. Still pretty much dead according to the book, but she knew better. He was moving now, was conscious, and was breathing easier. She touched his neck, and he turned the mask to her.

"Have you put the blood in?" he asked again.

"Yes, I have," she answered proudly.

He sighed. "Can't die before the Fifth, you know."

Evey sat on her hands to keep from pounding him.

* * *

Blood

Chapter 4

Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery and medical squick

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

Evey was stiff and sore. She had finally drifted off, curled on the cold tile beside V, her back pressed against the metal cabinet, her head on her arms, her feet and legs tucked up against his side. There really was not enough room for both of them in that tiny space against the tub, but she could not imagine leaving him alone. She rubbed her bottom and her legs, then tucked her hand under the mask and over his collar to rest on V's neck. By now she knew just where to insert her hand to feel his pulse. His hand came up, the glove touched the mask. _He does that every time he wakes_. _He probably still can't see me_. She smiled at him anyway. She took his hand from his porcelain face, returned it to his side

"Can you hear me?" she asked.

"Yes." It sounded more like a hiss than a word. _He is so weak_.

"Today is not going to be a pleasant day for you." Evey bent over him to examine her work from the night before. The bandage on his hip was soaked with blood and serum. She closed her eyes; waited for the sick feeling to pass. _It has to be changed. And the one on his head. I will have to sew that one up._ She shuddered._ It is not going to be a pleasant day for me either._

She had given him some water last night through a straw, lifting his shoulders and holding his head. He would not let her take the mask off. _Foolish man. Vain man_. _How else can I feed him? How long can he go without food? Maybe three days. It has been thirty hours already. _"Would you like some more water?" He made a soft noise, between a sigh and a grunt. She interpreted that as an affirmative, lifted him and slipped the straw under his chin. She watched the water disappear, then lay him back down.

"Yesterday it was obvious you have been shot in two places, V. Are you hurt anywhere else. Can you tell?"

"It hurts everywhere."

"Yes, I imagine that's so. Can you tell me what happened? Do you remember?" She pulled the dressing from his hip, tried not to look at it, set it on the back of the cabinet behind her. _So much work to do_.

"I was shot."

"Yes, I know that. I know that. At least twice, actually." Evey picked up her big book, turned to the chapter on wound care, flipped through looking for bullet wounds. _Not really anything specific, mostly some stuff on deep tissue and puncture wounds._ _A bullet would cause that_. She set the book down, creased the pages apart. _I'm supposed to probe the wound, looking for a foreign object_. She sat back against the cabinet, ran a hand through her hair gathering courage. "Where were you when you were shot? Do you know?" He didn't answer. She was used to that by now. He drifted in and out of consciousness; the easiest way to tell if he was with her was to talk to him constantly. Sometimes he answered her. Mostly he did not_. I am supposed to have him on a morphine drip or something, whatever that is, and antibiotics._ She read some more. _And he is supposed to be in a clean bed. He is supposed to be cleaned up._ Evey looked up from her book. _He's not even laying down flat, but is cramped and bent around the tub like me, his legs askew. I can not get him up, or over this cabinet or through the medical minefield by the door. I can't even move him into the tub. I don't need a textbook, I need a field manual._

Evey flipped a few more pages. _Ah. This is more helpful. A protocol list_. Part one, "Assessing the patient."_ Airways, did that, bleeding, did that, vital signs, did that_.

The book says to then strip the patient, cut off his clothing with scissors and "examine him for all wounds, marks, and signs of injury". She looked up at the mask. _Maybe it's best if he sleeps through this part. He won't let me touch the mask. _Last night she had been startled awake by the sound of a choking cough. Obviously he was having trouble breathing, so she had immediately gone for the straps, a very logical response. But her logic had prompted a violent reaction. Evey sobered, remembering. He had pushed her back painfully into the cabinet and actually sat up, gloves to his face. She tried to coax him back down, soothing, pleading, scolding. But with no success. In the end he went down again only when he collapsed, exhausted. She didn't touch the mask after that. _What about the rest of him? _She reached for the scissors.

She had already untied the cape the day before to cover him when he shivered. She also had unbuckled his belt, though it still lay beneath him. Both sleeves were shredded, and she was keeping the digital sphyg-thing on his upper arm. She pushed the button. 100 over 70, finally in the "alive" range of the chart. His trousers had been slashed over the wound in his hip as well. Basically he was already tattered and it took no time at all to finish the job with the scissors. The gloves came off too. Bits of black silk lay around her, some of it she had to pick off with her fingers. In a few places it had to be soaked off. _He has no body hair_, she realized, as she pulled off each boot and then peeled away his black socks. In a way, that minor observation made him seem all the more naked and vulnerable. She made a quick trip to her bedroom to get a thick blanket to cover him, ashamed she had not thought to do that earlier. She had not removed his black silk boxers. They were bloody from the hip wound, but she recognized that if he was sensitive about the mask, the boxers might be the other cover she shouldn't touch. _Better wait and worry about that later._ _I'm fairly certain he is not injured there. I think he would have shown some signs of it. Besides, that thin silk is soaked. I can see a fairly accurate representation of what is under them. _She smiled as she laid the blanket over him. _Now, to clean him up_.

She ran warm water in the tub, and grabbed the rest of the towels and the wash cloths. She was not sure what to use for soap. She had quite a choice, here in the loo, from beauty bars to the harsh detergents he used on himself after he had spent the day in the lab. The textbook did not specify, probably assumed an emergency room would be well stocked with anti-bacterial cleansers. She selected her own facial soap. _Mild is best. No sense in hurting him more than I have to. _Evey started with his head, avoiding the straps, soaping and wiping the mottled skin, skipping the crease over his ear. _Will I have to sew that?_ She shuddered. _It looks so horrible_. The coagulated blood glistened like a black slug stuck to his head. She suspected that it would have to come off to stitch it, and that pulling it off would cause it to bleed again. _Maybe I don't have to do anything to it. Maybe it'll be fine with just a bandage._ But she knew she was lying to herself.

He jerked when she brought the cloth too close to the wound. His hand came up to his face again.

"V?"

"Ow, Eve. Ow." He was gasping. Evey set down her soap and towels and took his hand.

"Sorry, V. The book says I have to look for other injuries, and I can't see anything but blood."

"!#$ &$$#!."

"I'm sorry. There are pills all over the floor. Do you want me to get some for you? Can you tell me what to give you?" Evey was still in the trauma section, hadn't even attempted the pharmaceutical chapter.

"Demerol."

She lay his hand down on his chest and climbed over the cabinet. She crawled around picking up the scattered prescription canisters, tried to read the labels. No use. Some of the words were so long they continued around the side of the canister. She did notice that the dates were as recent as last week as well as some nearly ten years old. She collected them all and brought them back in an armload to the little nest by the tub. "Are you still awake?" she asked him. He was breathing too hard and too fast to be unconscious.

"Ah."

"Here they are," she tried to hurry. "There's no Demerol. Tell me when to stop. Vicodin, Norgesic, diflunisal, meclofenamate, naproxen, codeine, protopine, meconidine, percodan, oxycodone…"

"Stop.

"Oxycodone?"

"That one. Yes, two. Maybe three," he gasped.

"No. The canister says 'one'. You can have one."

"!#$"

She opened the canister and picked out one tablet. Filled his glass with some fresh water and lifted his shoulders. Slipped her hand under the mask, felt for his mouth, tucked the pill between his lips and gave him the straw. She held him until he swallowed it. "How long before it takes effect?"

"Half hour." His voice was thick with pain.

"Oh no, oh no. Is there nothing faster?"

"Do you see any hypodermics?"

"They are everywhere!" Evey cried.

"Get one. The morphine is in the cabinet."

Evey turned around. _This is the cabinet_. Everything that used to be in it is now under it, if not already on the floor.

"What is morphine stored in?" she asked.

"Little glass vials"

Her face fell. She picked up his hand, stroked it. "I'm sorry, V. Then we don't have any. Anything in that cabinet is crushed, or out of reach. I can't lift it up to look under it." The only glass on the floor was in shards. Her bloody feet were testament to that.

"Then please wait. Please… please."

"I will." His other hand reached for her blindly. She took that one too

* * *

Blood

Chapter 5: Peace

Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

He was sleeping. Evey had spent the evening cleaning up. She did not want to spend another night like the last two. All the bloody towels were taken to the laundry and were soaking in a tub. A broom and a bucket took care of the glass, but she had to painstakingly sift through the medical supplies to salvage what she could. That took nearly three hours. She had turned on the Wurlitzer while she was working, turned it up loud enough to hear from the loo. She set it to random play because she wasn't really listening.

All of V's ruined clothing was gone, the tile wiped down. She glanced up. _Except for the blood up there. He will have to get the stuff off the ceiling himself._ She finished just before midnight. _Three days. It's only been three days._ _This tiny room has been my whole world for what seems like years_. The metal cabinet still lay as it fell, slanted, the tile gouged where it had struck the wall and slid to its place on the floor, crooked, its doors splayed out like wings. She had tried to move it, but no. He'll have to do that too…but when? Evey fluffed up her pillow and turned over. _I don't know. A month?_ She extended her arm from her blanket and touched him under his blanket. _I wish I knew_.

He had told her why there were no antibiotics in the cabinet, or in the fridge or in the kit. She listened in horror to that story. Though she was sure he had left out most of the details, she still shuddered when she thought of it. _I am relieved that infection is no longer one of my concerns._ He had slept through the sponge bath, mercifully. Getting his flak jacket off was the most difficult, and would have tormented him with all the yanking and pulling she had to do, had he been awake. She had found several other places on his body that must hurt. The cabinet had come down on one shoulder; there was a terrible bruise there. The hip wound was another graze like his skull. Lots of bleeding but not too serious. One ankle was swollen and purple. That may have happened when he was shot. Evey turned over again, faced away from him. _Damned stupid man, getting shot_. _Making me sew up his head. _

The drugs had made him loopy and funny. He kept making jokes about her being a seamstress, wanting her to sew him a new costume, sew him a new head. She waited for him to say, "sew a new face", but he didn't. She knew he thought it, for he was quiet after that. He had to hold still while she looped the thread in and out, his head resting on her thigh. She had to look at the ruined mask, feel the straps on her wrists while she plied the needle. The bloody and filthy mask was a grotesque caricature of the elegant one she loved. She had to get that mask off. _Already it smells like a slaughterhouse in here, and it has to be that mask._ She had cleaned up everything else that could putrefy. Two new masks lay beside her. She looked at their smiles, fresh and white, the cheeks rosy with health. She needed to switch out the one he was wearing. She thought she could do it while he was out cold, but nothing brought him around faster than her finger on a strap. And he came out of it angry. She did not want to go there again. She stared at the cabinet instead. _I'm so tired. Why aren't I sleeping?_

"Eve?"

She sat up, alarmed, "What is it?"

"No. No, I'm fine."

"Bloody hell, V. You are not 'fine'. If you think you are, it's the drugs talking. Is it time for more?" She looked at her watch. _No. He's got another two hours to go. He must be high as a kite._

"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I did this to you. I want you to know I had no intention of causing you any distress."

Evey sighed. She lay back down on her side, facing him. Plumped her pillow again. "I don't believe you. You were totally ready for this." She glared at him.

"Honestly. It was an accident."

"Accident? No way! You knew were taking risks. Look at you, blood in the fridge, a needle in your arm, a hook on the shower…you knew."

"Eve. I do that every time I go out."

"What did you say?"

"I do that every time. I never know what is going to happen. I know I mustn't die before the Fifth. I have to be ready every time."

Evey sat up again, looked at the fallen cabinet. "How much of this stuff have you used over the years?" She asked him.

"A bloody great lot of it. But this time was the closest I ever came. This time if you hadn't been here, I would be dead. I know it. I want you to know I appreciate what you did for me.

"If you want to make it up to me, you must do me a favor."

"If I can."

"You are going to have to take off that mask. It stinks, it's ugly, it makes you look like the fiend you are. I have fresh ones. Put a fresh one on. Then you have to tell me what happened. The truth. Everything." He was silent. She waited. He paused so long she thought he had fallen asleep.

"Very well," he said.

"Fine. You just be still and I will do the hard parts." Evey got up, helped him to sit up and lean over the edge of the tub, keeping his blanket around him.

Evey had bandaged his head around the straps. Now she would have to re-do the dressing. It was worth it to get the filthy mask off. She drew more water in the tub. Collected the fresh bandages. She used scissors to clip the old bandage, pulled it away and set it down. Then she prepared a dripping wash cloth and hung it on the side of the tub. "When I unstrap it, I'm going to wash your face and you are going to let me. Is that clear?"

"Yes. But turn the lights out."

"What? Turn the lights out? Then how can I see to do anything?"

"You don't need to see to wash my face. I'll do it if you want the lights on."

"No. You need both hands to hold on to the tub or you'll fall over."

"I can do it."

_How far can I push him? This is as doped up as he's ever going to be. _"A lot of trouble just to humor a man's vanity", she grumbled. "I've seen the rest of you, you know."

"It's not vanity, Eve."

"I'm sorry." _I am too tired. I don't mean to be cruel. But sometimes he makes me so mad_. She put her hand on his back. "You wash your own face. I'll hold on so you don't fall over. The lights stay on. Can we agree to that?"

"Yes."

She handed him the wash cloth. Then, from behind him, she lifted the two straps. The ruined mask fell forward into the tub. She heard it splash. She watched from behind as he took the first cloth and rubbed his face. That one turned red immediately. She handed him the fresh one. He used that one as well as a third before she was satisfied he was completely clean. "Good. Here is a new mask." She put it in his hand. He brought it to his face and allowed her to strap it for him. "Sit back now and I will put a new dressing on your head."

As she taped the dressing and then began to wind the bandage around his head she told him, "Now, I will listen while you tell me what happened. You can start by telling me where you were going and why it was so important."

"I went to Trafalgar square."

"You didn't!"

"I did. I have been packing gelignite in Big Ben for a month now. I have to make several trips. I can only carry so much explosive at a time."

"But I thought the train….?"

"That's just the trigger. I want Big Ben to go up all the way, and I have to plant the fireworks. Those explosions can't come from the train."

"You never told me that's where you were going."

"I knew you would be angry."

"So you got shot by security there. Now they are on to you. They will find your gelignite and everything you've been planning has gone to hell."

"No. They never knew I was there."

"They didn't?" She tied off the bandage and helped him to lie down on his back, adjusted his blanket. "Then how did you get shot?" His new face shone in the bright light and smiled at her.

"On my way home. There's that place I showed you where the tunnel had collapsed. I have to go topside for a hundred yards to detour around that obstruction. Do you remember?"

Evey thought back to the tunnel tours he gave her. "Yes, I remember. You got shot in that neighborhood? But it's residential."

"Well, not exactly."

"Damn it, V, you tell me what happened right now, or so help me…"

"I was going past the all night Chemist. It was late, it should have been clear. I was distracted, though."

He paused so long Evey leaned over him. "V? 'Distracted'? Go on."

"Yes. I looked through the windows before I crossed the car park to see if the clerk was near the doors. And I saw something inside..." Evey frowned. His voice was fading, maybe he was falling asleep. It's probably hard for him to concentrate with all the opiates in his blood.

"And?" she prompted him.

"The clerk was not alone," he said.

"He had a customer?"

"Not exactly."

"Exactly, what, V. Out with it."

"There was a man inside. Wearing a cape and a hat… and a mask. A white mask."

"What!"

"Yes. He pulled out a gun, and so did the clerk."

"And?" Evey was incredulous.

"There was gunfire. A great deal of it. Breaking glass, shouting, sirens..."

"I don't believe it."

"It's true."

"And you were collateral damage."

"I was."

"You got shot by a robber wearing a Guy Fawkes mask."

"I did."

"Nearly killed."

"Yes."

"The irony is not lost on you, I hope."

"It is not."

"Chaos has its casualties, V. You are staying home until the Fifth. Fireworks be damned. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Eve."


End file.
